Stinky laughed. “At least accept that, Ned.”
Ned laughed as well. “How can an engineer say no to that?”
. . .
Gus’s partner for the last six dances set her glass on the table and pursed her lips in thought. “Let me guess… Augustus?”
Gus shook his head. “No. Feargus.”
“Ah! A fine name. That’d make you fearless, wouldn’t it?”
Makko grinned. “That’s it! Gus ‘Fearless’ Riley.”
Gus shook his head and shrugged. “Just like that? What does it mean when a person gets a clan moniker?”
“It means you’ve been accepted. Lookout for your clan, learn and follow the code, and you’ll be set.”
“There many like us? Non-Makreurys getting inducted I mean.”
“Yes and no. Probably a good two dozen or more this Latchup, but you’re Makreury once you’re in, whatever be your name. I’d wager a good third of the folks here were not born Makreurys. My gramps tells of a Gorsaurian Makreury. Must have been quite a lizard to pull that off. Like they say, ‘follow the code, learn the knowin’, and you’ll have a loyal band to turn to for the rest of your days.’”
Gus laughed. “Just like that? A guy like me steps off a ship, gets hugged, dances with a pretty girl, and becomes a part of all this?”
“Why not? It’s better than walking on burning coals or chopping off a digit to gain admittance.”
He laughed again. “Yeah, why not?”
. . .
Rory led Hugh into an area cordoned off with cargo strapping. Five people stood within the area speaking to one another.
The five looked toward the pair, one, a man Hugh’s age, dropped his jaw in surprise.
“Noggin Makreury,” Hugh said. “Still on the council I see.”
The older man closed his mouth. “Not still. Until this current council, I’d been away since we ruled on your issue so long ago.”
“Not so long ago that it doesn’t still hurt, Noggin.”
“No doubt, Hugh,” he said in a grm tone. “It’s all coming back again. Your presence here is odd to say the least… but maybe it was supposed to be this way.”
Rory laughed. “Fortuitous timing. Oh the fates do have a sense of chronology, don’t they?”
Noggin nodded. “A sense of humor also.”
“A lot of changes over the last decade or so,” Rory said. “A lot of younger folks of the old line lookin’ to move forward. Pushing to end brideprices and the like.”
“And the patriarchs of the old line like Henry? What do they have to say?”
“Not many left, truth be told.” Noggin said. “Some of them have packed up again and went their own way… perhaps for good. Some of the younger set wish to continue the old ways, so it continues. As for Henry himself, well… he’s dead. I thought you might know that. The issue we’re ruling on this day concerns that.”
Hugh’s face tightened in surprise and concern. “And Orkney?”
“No more Orkney either. Died before Henry.”
“How did that get past me? Sorcha?”
“It didn’t happen so long ago, Hugh. Sorcha’s here. She’s at the center of the issue.”
“Now I have an interest in this… issue. What does it be?”
“Simply put, her father and husband are dead. To whom do the estates belong? Her, or others within the old liners. That is the issue. The arguments have been made. The council’s made a decision.”
“Where is Sorcha?”
“As I said, she’s here. Came on her own. She’s not with the old liners, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“It is. Your decision, what’ll it be?”
“We cannot say until the council convention. You know that.”
“Another ‘what’s best for the clan’ decision?”
“We always decide for the betterment of the Makreurys.”
“Then we’ll see you at the announcements.”
Hugh turned on a heel and walked away, Rory following close behind. They passed Ho and two men on their way out.
“That it?” Rory said in a surprised tone. “You’ll not seek out Sorcha?”
“Not until this is resolved. The knot’s big enough.”
“What’s that mean?”
“Never mind. We’ll go hear their pronouncement.”
“You’ll just wait and see what they decide? No more words? You could press them, you know. They owe you that.”
“I know their decision.”
“How could you know wha—oh you old gambler, what is it to be?”
Hugh smiled.
. . .
“Tell Skellum. Took you long enough to get here,” said a smiling salt-and-pepper-haired man as he stood from his seat near one of Follies’ seemingly countless hatches.
“C’mon, Ty, what’s a decade between friends?”
A bald man stepped from the hatchway. “A decade? A bit longer than that by a fair margin, Tell Skellum. Hear you gave up that fighter foolishness for freighters.”
Teller smiled. “That’s right. I said I would, didn’t I? You filled my young brain with myths about knockabouts. Can’t let you two handle all the lousy hauling jobs alone.”
The bald man laughed. “Never had a lick of sense. Too late to set you straight now, so welcome to the business… even if it’s long late in coming.”
Teller’s expression became serious. “That’s my fault, Brabs. I should have looked you guys up long before now. Because of Hugh I—”
“No need to explain, kiddo. We know. Tell us about your troubles.”
“Where to start?”
“At the beginning, but first introduce your big friend.”
Teller did exactly that, ending with, “—and Ord and I brought the whole bunch here.”
Brabham let out a loud breath. “Quite the tale. Might take a bit of stewing before some solutions cook up.”
Ty nodded. “Some ale, that always does it. Find something to sit on and I’ll find some brew.”
A few chrono units later, the four men sat on shipping crates near the hatch, each with a large glass of ale in hand.
Ty pointed at Ord. “So that’s your partner and copilot?” He shook his head and smiled. “Doesn’t talk your ear off like mine. I’ll bet he’s not as lazy as Brabs either.”
“Probably not,” Teller said with a grin, “but Brabs probably doesn’t eat as much as mine or butcher Syndicate Standard Speech like Ord does.”
Brabham laughed and looked at Ord. “Is there anyone who does so much and gets as little appreciation as us copilots?”
“Mothers?” Ord said.
Brabham smiled broadly as he pointed at the giant and nodded. “Showing the wisdom and maturity I expect from a fellow co. Moms and copilots. Our partners have no idea what we do for them.”
Ord grinned. “None.”
“How many times have you had to save Teller’s skin?”
“Many.”
“The same here. And it’s always, ‘what took you so long?’ or ‘I didn’t need your help. I had it under control.’,” he said impersonating Ty’s voice. “Gorsaurians have more sense.”
“Yes.”
Brabham raised his glass. “So here’s to the bloody cos. Unappreciated, unsung, uncompensated, and completely un—”
“Unaware of what we pilots do for you,” Ty said.
Brabham stifled a smile and balled a fist. “That’s the living end! I’ve had it!” He looked at Ord. “You want to punch him or should I?”
“Why not both?”
Ty held a hand and his glass up. “All right, all right, I’ll give you this round. Here’s to the bloody cos. It looks like Tell’s got a fine one.”
“That he does,” Brabham said.
“That I do,” Teller said.
The four drank.
“You’ll need more than a good co and a hot ship to get out of the mess you be in,” Ty said. “We can help.”
“Altairie, that right?” Brabham sai
d.
Teller nodded. “You hear something?”
“That we did,” Ty said. “From Peachy Lewis.”
“Peachy? He here?”
Ty shook his head. “Running a cushy freight run over Gnor system. Too lucrative to go Latchup. Passed on info in passing on our way here. First news we’d of you in years, and of course it had to be bad.”
“What did he have?”
“Well, the vid version of some of what you told us of course. Sounds like you have a good grasp on the situation, so we’ve not much to add. But Peachy says there’s a being, Human I think, shopping Altairie corporate data. This rat’s been looking for a buyer since well before your issue.”
“Interesting, but how does that help us?”
“You say the data you have be important, right? Despite the fact that the worms be out of the bag about what these planetary governments were trying, the corp still has hounds out. Why? You figure that out, you might be able to do something. The problem is, how do you find out? This man with Altairie data has hounds on him as well now, and may have a head start on you. Maybe, just maybe, he might have someone wanting what you have.”
“You’re saying sell it and run?”
Ord groaned. “Trade for information that clears us.”
Brabham nodded. “Pilots, I swear. What your big friend said. A rival corp might have knowing of things Altairie. Don’t know if it’ll work, but it’s all we can think of.”
Ty nodded. “Go find Peachy. He’ll get you where you need to be, and he won’t go rogue on you like Farga.”
“Thanks guys.”
“Clan and kin and all that. Tell me of this crate of yours.”
Teller smiled and detailed all that went into making the ARC Lance what she was.
“And you two did all that by yourselves?”
“Most of it. Speedwell’s done some work for us since then. You know where he is?”
“Ah, good old Malcolm,” Brabham said. “He’s operating off of a rock in the Orsto system last I heard. Likely as not he’s still there. I’d visit him if you need to change your bona fides come worst case.”
Ty nodded in agreement “Like to walk around your ship in a berth or groundside. Sounds like you done yourselves right.”
“Half the stuff we did was things I learned from you.”
Ty laughed. “We could take credit, but between you and us, we were just using you as cheap labor.”
Teller laughed. “You still pushing the Mum’s Lament?”
“Yes and no. We ship the TBS Mum’s Lament II now. Tyrrell-Brabham Shipping. Got a new Mum about seven Standard back. Badajoz class light freighter, a bit more comfortable than the old girl.”
“Not to say we haven’t fiddled with her gizzards a bit,” Brabham said.
“We get clear of this, we’ll meet and look over the hardware.”
“Sounds grand. Someplace nice and quiet. We best make our way over to the dais. The clan council has some rulings and such.”
The men stood. “Hugh has some involvement, right?” Teller said.
“I believe he does. We’ll tell you what we know on the way over.”
. . . . .
. . . . .
9
Reunions and Departures
. . . . .
Excerpt from, Cap’n Cosmos’ Guide to it All, the Interstellar Guide for Endeavoring Spacers.
Cap’n, how many kinds of spaceships are there?
-N—Mab 6bab
A great question that I can never answer adequately, N—Mab. There are at least as many types of spacecraft as there are stars in the sky, I’ll say that much.
On the military side we have: fighters, pinnaces, gigs, sloops, brigs, barques, transports, frigates, cruisers, dreadnoughts, battleships, carriers, repair vessels, patrol craft, and so many more it makes the Cap’n tired just thinking about it.
The civilian side is even worse from a typing standpoint. The Cap’n’s hands hurt already and he hasn’t even started. The Cap’n would dictate, but then he’d have to edit expletives and that’s whole other kettle of eels. There are an amazingly huge amount of spacecraft out there. In fact, the Cap’n’s mind is boggling just thinking about it. If you parked just one of each sort on your typical planet, you’d shortly run out of space and have to start stacking them. You think the Cap’n is exaggerating? Try it.
An easier way for you to learn would be to buy, borrow, or steal a copy of Winchester W. Winchester’s Gargantuanly Massive Encyclopedia of Spaceships. I don’t normally advocate stealing, but the 6bab crew is notorious for their piracy(no judgments, kiddo, just fact, besides a crew’s gotta do what a crew’s gotta do, you know?) and W.W. Winchester has been rather disparaging of the Cap’n and the Endeavoring Spacers, so hoist the jolly roger and read away. Winchester’s work only scratches the surface because he doesn’t broach the topic of non-factory or modified craft, but it will give you an idea of just how many ships there are.
Addendum - The Cap’n received a nice message from Crew 6bab thanking him for his deft, non-judgmental, and sensitive handling of crew tradition. Let that be a lesson for all you Endeavoring Spacers out there. Remember, respect is a two-way navigation lane.
. . .
Five people sat on chairs upon a dais set near the back of the cargo deck. The three men and two women were the current clan council, elected to make judgments and decisions based upon the traditions, customs, rites, and rules of the Clan Makreury.
As Teller, Ord, Tyrrell, and Brabham moved among those gathering near the dais, Ursula and Muriel, Makko and Gus, Ned and Flip and Stinky, along with Ho and Devlin and Pip, all headed for the moving beacon Ord’s size provided.
Ord spotted Hugh and Rory to the right of the dais and made his way there, the collection of companions moving in the path he carved as he passed through the crowd. The group from the Lance shared quick tales of drink, dance, the renewal of old friendships, and the beginnings of new during their forays to different parts of the Latchup.
After a short while, the man seated in the center chair stood and walked to the front of the dais. He raised his hands and lowered them, repeating the gesture a few times until the crowd noise diminished enough to speak.
“For those that don’t know me, I am Rob Noggin Makreury, clan chair for the current council. To my left are Anna Credits Makreury and Miguel o’ the Air Makreury. To my right are John Bones Foster and Mary the Boot Makreury.”
Applause followed and faded away.
“We’ve not a lot of issues this session, but the few we have are important. Rest assured we did not take our duties lightly and we gave considerable thought regarding what is best for the clan.”
Noggin took a data pad from his jacket. “On the issue of a fund for the relief of Makreurys forced to exit their lands on Plun in the Protectorate, we approve. We know a great many have already helped, and we thank you. This fund is designed to make it easier and more efficient to get help where it needs to go and do it quicker. If you wish to contribute effort or monies, Credits Makreury will be overseeing this project.
“The clan ship registry issue between Mark Gassy Makreury and Lars Squints Makreury is decided. Gassy is the rightful holder of the ship’s name Magnificent Makreury, having been registered twenty-two Standard Years ago. The—”
“I’ve been wronged!” came a shout from the crowd. “Wronged I tell you. I’ll call me ship the Original Magnificent Makreury then.”
The council chair sighed. “That’s your right, Squints. Have at it and fair journeys.”
Noggin paused and looked at his data pad. “Finally we have three issues which are connected. First, a proposal for alterations to clan rules brought by Sorcha Makreury on behalf of Nancy Makreury concerning the custom of Brideprice. We rule this issue be decided by a vote of the Body Makreury.”
A murmur came from the crowd.
“Second and third, two issues tightly wound and we seek approval or disapproval of our decision by a vote of the Body Makreury.
The prior, brought by Sorcha Makreury, seeking rightful inheritance from both her father Henry Makreury and spouse Orkney Makreury. The latter, Norman Makreury seeks, on behalf of numerous parties as well as himself, a ruling regarding credits belonging to the aforementioned Henry and Orkney be ruled forfeit and returned to clan control.
“The council voted and unanimously agreed to let local law, in this case the Confederation of Planets, hold authority. This means Sorcha is the rightful and legal heir to both Henry and Orkney. We—”
“And what the theft of funds by Sorcha?” a man said as he stepped forward from a gathering at the left side of the dais.
“For those who cannot see,” said the council chair, “let it be known that Norman Makreury addresses the council.”
“And what of this theft? She transferred funds from accounts controlled by Makreury interests to the Carperan Bank. Accounts only she can access.”
The chair nodded. “A legal transfer from personal accounts once controlled by Henry and Orkney respectively, which became Sorcha’s upon their deaths. There are no clan rules that govern this, only customs of some members of the clan. The ‘interests’ you mention were Henry and Orkney. Should you disagree with our ruling, you might seek redress from Confederation authorities.”
Norman scowled. “You know what would happen were we to do that.”
“Actually I don’t. Would they decide to intrude into clan rules and traditions? That is a possibility.”
“Possibility? You know better, Rob. We’re talking tradition here. Makreury traditions, not outsiders law.”
“CoP law might not view our traditions with the same reverence as we do. I admit it’s a possibility.”
“You’re forcing a confrontation.”
“I’m the one forcing this? You might try seeking a more objective view than your own, Norman.”
“Objective? How is one to be objective when clan members spit on long-standing traditions? The council has taken it upon itself to change the clan.”
“We’ve changed nothing. We have placed the decision within the hands of the clan. Change must come from the entire body of the clan, not the ruling council.”
The Knockabouts Page 20
